Lately, my hobby has been driving. Open road, blue sky (no, actually narrow mountain roads and very often overcast skies), music, and coffee. Camera in hand. Time to think and think and think. It’s become a Sunday tradition.
I go alone. Not because I’m an introvert, though, if you were wondering—heck yes, I am. But because going alone forces me to use the limited Japanese I know. Many of my friends here are proficient or dare I say, speaking in a way that seems real close to fluency to me.
When I travel with them, it’s great, it’s easy, it’s comfortable, but it also doesn’t feel honest. Not to mention my resort to dependence on others just makes me pissed off at myself later!
Going places alone means I’ll be sure to run into some forced or chosen interactions which I divide up into three categories of success: negative or scary, funny, and positive.
Scary/Negative: That time my neighbor knocked on my door speaking in rapid Japanese in the middle of a typhoon and I thought he was telling me to evacuate.
Funny: That time I nearly passed out at the doctor’s office and had to tell the doctor in Japanese, don’t worry, this happens every time.
Positive: Today.
Route 158 has gained its way into my heart and I’m dubbing it as my favorite road in Japan, as of now.
It has winding roads, several tunnels that pass directly through mountains, and many styles of bridges. It’s a fun road to drive.
The fall leaves are finally peaking and the mountains are in optimal color. In contrast with the deep jade color of the water as you approach Kuzuryu Dam, it’s a lot of beauty to take in. Not to mention impossible for me to capture with my still shitty photography skills.
There are hardly any places to pull over, it’s that narrow, so whenever I see one, I act fast. Today, I pulled off and booked it across the highway because the turn-outs always seem to be carved out on the opposite side of the road from the views.
As I fiddled with the aperture and tried to remember how to adjust the camera for the day’s unusual brightness, a fellow photographer came up to me.
He was maybe in his early sixties, and he had his motorcycle on the edge of the road, a Pocari Sweat bottle gleaning near the handlebars. I realized we had a bit in common, both choosing to drive around on our Sundays to capture beautiful scenes like this.
He was speaking in Japanese and at first, all I could gather was that he was telling me numbers.
So, so I said a few times before he asked me if I spoke Japanese and I reluctantly answered sukoshii.
And thus began the type of conversation I’m becoming accustomed to:
Local speaks in Japanese. I answer in a mix of mostly English and a bit of Japanese. Local answers in a mix swung the other way.
Somehow, we figure it out.
After discussing what town I’m in and how long I’ve been here, I finally realize he was telling me the times that the train crosses the bridge we’re photographing. It’s a red bridge, narrow, just one track in width. The train comes four times a day, and I’m hours from its arrival.
He goes on to show me his photographs, taken with film. I discover he’s got a real love for trains. There are hundreds of photos of new and old-fashioned trains, and then several with planes flying in formation. Everyone uses film over here, and man, there’s something gorgeous about it! His photographs are amazing and I tell him so. Savoi, savoi!
In an effort to wrap up the conversation (I’m always wary as a solo woman even with Japan’s safe reputation), I tell him how nice it is to meet him and I dart across the highway back to my car. I’m waiting for a stream of cars to pass so I can get in the driver’s side when he starts walking up to me holding a book.
It’s a photo album. Dozens of trains and landscapes—professional shots. Suddenly, he’s pulling photographs out of the album and telling me it’s a present.
Iie, iie, I say, putting up hands, but he smiles and hands them over. Have a nice day, he says, in English this time.
And that’s how I ended up with a few stunning photos of old-fashioned trains.
The kindness of strangers gets to me here sometimes, hits me in my core, makes me think that in this world I’m often so disappointed and furious at, that lately I’m terrified for, that there’s some hope from the little corners of the world. And there’s a lot of little corners in the world.
I dug around in my car after to see if I had a gift to give him, but of course, I had nothing. I wasn’t about to run over some 100 yen tissues or hand sanitizer 😂.
Next week though, I’ll be prepared. It’s time to stock up on some of my own photos of travels of far away places and keep them handy in my car, just within reach for these chance exchanges.
Acclimate Already 